


Papa’s Gonna Shove that Mockingbird so Far Down Your Throat That You Won’t Sit for a Week

by Trista_zevkia



Series: Platonic [21]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Superman (Comics), Superman - All Media Types, Superman/Batman (Comics), World's Finest (Comics)
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Control Issues, Dubious Consent, Identity Porn, Infantilism, Legal Shenanigans, M/M, Non-Sexual Age Play, Riding, Secret Identity, under the influence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-29
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-04-23 22:57:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4895518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trista_zevkia/pseuds/Trista_zevkia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Well, at least Ivy and Joker aren't working together. That would be disastrous. This, here, whatever it is, isn't necessarily a disaster? We will have to ask Bruce when he's calmed down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Papa’s Gonna Shove that Mockingbird so Far Down Your Throat That You Won’t Sit for a Week

When Clark Kent was sent on this press tour, it was to report, not to make the news. Efficiency experts and environmentalist were following the path of Lex’s goods to show how wonderfully Lex cared about the environment. As they rode the barge into Gotham Harbor, Clark still wasn’t sure if this was real or greenwashing, a chance for Lex to raise his prices and blame environmental concerns. This was a fluff piece, but Clark was determined to find out if there was real news involved, but not at the risk of being outed as Superman.

Still, when the Joker descended on the Harbor and corralled them all into a warehouse, Clark had made himself a target. He shouted questions at Joker, until a special made purple dress boot was resting comfortably on his throat. If anyone was hurt, he should be the first one, and hopefully buy some time for Batman to make a showy entrance. Scary, that was, Bruce didn’t do showy, he did scary. 

On cue, the lights of the warehouse went out. Clark heard the nearly silent hydraulic puff of one of Batman’s toys, just as Joker moved off of Clark. Harley squealed as bolos wrapped around her in the dark. The bolos weren’t wrapped perfectly around Harley, as Clark could see in the dark, which meant Batman had been aiming for the Joker and Harley got in the way. It also meant that she would be able to get out of the bolos, given enough time. Batman was dealing with the gun toting henchmen around the civilians, so she might get that time. 

Clark focused on Joker, and stood to take the man out, only to have Joker behind him with a knife on his throat. The emergency lighting chose that moment to come on, so everybody could suddenly see Clark Kent, reporter, hostage. Clark hesitated, trusting Batman and not wanting to lose his civilian identity, and that hesitation allowed the Joker to make demands. 

The real civilians didn’t realize that Batman had removed the henchmen from around them, and without their guards they could leave and let Superman take care of this. Clark didn’t want to call attention to the civilians, so he didn’t tell them this fact. Basically, everything was at a standstill, until the Joker got bored or Batman emerged from the shadows. 

“Batsy, have you forgotten the steps in our dance?” Joker called, waiting for the echo from his voice to die down before speaking again. He didn’t really expect a decent conversation from a creature of the night. “You come for me because I’m the biggest threat. My thugs of the week get scared of my defeat, so they attack you. You fight us all, blah, blah, Joker gas. You started with Harley, and now this hostage is at my nonexistent mercy!” 

Joker’s voice cut towards a shriek at the end of his talking, and then he was dragging his knife across Clark’s throat. Clark, never having been in this situation, took a moment to decide what to do. 

“Harley, why do I still have rubber knives?” 

“The handle’s make good blackjack’s, Mr. J.” Harley replied easily from where she was half out of the bolos. 

With a noise of remembrance, Joker brought his other hand up and held another knife to Clark’s throat. Joker threw away the rubber knife, and Clark decided that if Joker tried to cut his throat again he’d collapse, fainting away and crushing the Joker under his backward fall. 

“These are citizens of Metropolis, Joker,” Batman finally joined in. “You should be careful, unless you want to attract the attention of Superman.” 

Batman’s voice echoed around the warehouse, dangerous, threatening, and without a source. Did Batman have files on the best acoustics in all the buildings of Gotham? Was he trying to get Clark to turn into Superman? Why else was he bringing Superman up, Clark wondered? 

“Like Big Blue would show up after you’ve pissed on all the buildings in Gotham.” Joker laughed at that, joking about Batman’s territoriality. 

“They both need to be fixed or laid.” Harley added with a giggle. 

“Now Harley, you know how I feel about toilet humor,” Joker reprimanded. 

“Toilets don’t fit in your suit pockets?” Harley asked in her innocent voice, making Joker laugh. 

Clark wasn’t the expert Batman was, but this laugh sounded real to Clark. And he found that kind of scary. 

“Fixed or laid it is, just for you babe.” Joker called, and Harley squealed her joy as she shifted to better watch while fighting her way out of the bolos. 

“Hostage, what’s your name?” 

Clark took a moment to think through all the reasons the Joker could want his name, and found a few but all with bad endings. Still, the hostages were watching, frozen with fear. “Clark Kent.” 

“Dearly be-loathed,” Joker began, “we are gathered together to witness mayhem. Do you, Clark Kent, take this Batman to be your unlawfully wedded husband?” 

All the other hesitating Clark had done had very logical sound reasons, but it took the wiggling of Joker’s knife at his throat to get Clark beyond the big ball of emotions blocking his reactions. “I do?” 

“Do you, Batman, take this Clark bar to be your lawfully wedded hostage, keeping in mind that if Harley doesn’t like the answer I will behead Clark and make the other hostages eat him?” 

There was still way too long of a pause for Batman to answer, even with a threat like that. Why wasn’t Batman ending this? Clark wanted an answer to that, even as he waited for his next cue. 

“I do,” growled a voice. 

Harley squealed, and having wriggled free at last rushed to join the Joker. She slapped Clark with a powder puff and yelled. “Here’s a wedding gift!” 

Clark tried to blink out what got into his eyes, and he stopped breathing so it didn’t get into his lungs. He blinked open his eyes to find it was dark, the lights out again, and the knife pulling across his throat would have killed a human. In the dark, Clark took out Harley, knocking her to the ground and sitting on her. A heavy body slammed into him, and as Batman scrambled back to his feet, he pushed something in Clark’s hand. Not a wedding ring, but two plastic zip ties. 

Clark zip tied Harley’s hands and ankles, thinking it might actually be a good ring for the two of them. Disposable, hard to trace, matching zip ties wouldn’t out their secret identities. The lights came back on, to show Batman kneeling on Joker’s back as he finished zip tying him. Batman also pocketed the badly deformed knife Joker had dragged across Clark’s throat before standing. Batman then gave Clark a look, probably raising one eyebrow under his cowl, and Clark grinned back. 

“Damn, but you’re beautiful.” Clark heard the words spew from his mouth and was only granted a moment of confused silence before other words came. “Scary, right, don’t get me wrong, but you’re like, poetry in motion or something. Seriously, B, you are a-plus in my book.” 

By biting on his hand, Clark managed to stop talking. He hadn’t given anything away, but he was awful close to it. Close to talking about things Bruce would never hear, about home and family, and most damning of all, love. 

Batman glared down at Harley. “What did you give him?” 

In response, Batman only got laughter from Harley and Joker, with the background noises of the GPD storming the warehouse. Batman flared out his cape to cover Clark and growl in Clark’s ear. 

“Up.” 

As a smoke ampule exploded around them, Clark complied, flying them up and out of the hole Batman had come in through. 

“Car,” Batman commanded, and Clark flew them to it, the famed Batmobile. The roof opened to allow them into the seats, Batman pushing off to land in the driver’s seat. Clark looked at Batman, and didn’t talk. He was thinking about Bruce and how important family was to the man. 

sB _Sb_ Bs

Batman had taken samples of the powder on Clark’s face, plugging some into the car’s computers before heading for the cave. Hopefully, the GCPD had captured Joker without too much of a problem, as he kind of had his hands full. He needed to analyze the chemical components of the drug, find out what it was supposed to do to humans. Then he’d need to come up with an antidote, and figure out just how it was effecting Superman. 

Ever since they’d landed in the car, Clark had this weirdly happy smile on his face, his glazed eyes staring at Batman. The smile was unsettling, something Batman didn’t admit to feeling, but Bruce had kept the cowl up anyway; he was working. Clark didn’t get out of the car when it stopped, until Batman did, following like a lost puppy. 

“An early night, Master Bruce?” Alfred offered from where he was restocking the chemicals in the lab. “How very reasonable of you.” 

“Funny Alfred.” Turning to Clark, Batman pointed to the showers. “Go shower, it’s important that you wash off that chemical.” 

Clark smiled even bigger before turning and walking towards the showers. 

Hoping Clark was with it enough to shower, Batman turned to his computers, only to find Alfred still wanted to talk. Faking resignation, Bruce started to pull off the batsuit. He started with the cowl, as he couldn’t hide behind it around Alfred. “I’m just getting started. Clark got a face-full of Joker’s newest chemical.” 

“Perhaps I could persuade you to eat and rest while the computers analyze your samples?” Alfred asked, more out of form than having any hope Bruce would be responsible with his own health. 

“Busy, Alfred.” 

“Has Master Clark reacted in such a way that you feel his condition is life threatening?”

“No, other than some verbal diarrhea in front of the Joker, Harley, the hostages and GCPD, he’s been like this.” This came with a hand gesture at Clark, still happily bemused by everything life had to offer, including the shower controls. 

He didn’t admit that anytime Clark had his brain messed with, it crawled under Bruce’s skin like an itch he couldn’t reach. The Earth would be in serious trouble with Clark’s powers under a bad guy’s control, but Clark was more than the computer that ran his powers. It was almost like Bruce missed Clark’s personality, but that was pointless emotionalism, and not relevant to the Work. 

“Do I need to fetch something from the safe for you?” Alfred asked, cutting to the heart of the dilemma. 

Was Clark dangerous? Bruce paused to consider the situation, how little Clark normally reacted to Joker’s poisons. Ivy’s toxins got to him, so they could be in trouble if Joker and Ivy combined. Fortunately, they were too jealous of Harley’s attentions to work together. But nothing Clark had done so far justified the laughter Harley and Joker had responded with. Bruce absolutely refused to think about it being a wedding present and that farce of a ceremony, which had made a nice distraction while some of the SWAT team rescued a few of the hostages. Besides, honeymoons were really more of Ivy’s bailiwick, if she liked the humans involved and didn’t plan on killing them. 

“No, Alfred, I don’t need the kryptonite ring.” Bruce finally replied, admitting that Clark probably wasn’t dangerous and that he could, conceivably, take the time to rest while the machines analyzed the chemical structure. He wasn’t going to, he wouldn’t sit back and do nothing while waiting to fix Clark, but he could. Hopefully Alfred wouldn’t push him. 

“Then you do not consider this turn of events Earth destroying news.” 

“Enough, Alfred.” Bruce wasn’t really a fan of screaming, but his voice got a little closer to screaming than he cared to admit. He had crap to do; he’d apologize later. Except a wet-haired, shirtless Clark was suddenly there. He looked good in just a pair of sweatpants, that was a fact and not a distraction. 

“Oh, cranky tonight.” Clark offered as he pulled Bruce into a hug. Over Bruce’s shoulder, Clark asked Alfred. “Did he miss his nap?” 

“Nap?” Two voices queried at the same time. Bruce took the next step of trying to break out of Clark’s grip. 

With a laugh, Clark casually pulled Bruce up until he was sitting on Clark’s hip like a toddler in heavily armored pants. 

“Put me down,” Batman commanded in a staccato growl. 

“How about a bath?” Clark returned, clearly oblivious to Bruce’s words, tone, and meaning. 

“Master Clark?” Alfred called, instantly getting Clark’s attention. 

Bruce growled at this selective hearing. 

“Did you have a good day together, Alfred?” Clark was beaming at Alfred. 

Alfred tilted his head, just a little to consider Bruce before answering. 

“Alfred, no.” Bruce managed to get out before Clark was at it again. 

“Good boy, you almost got it!” Clark’s happy voice was a ridiculous counterpoint to Bruce’s deeply angry voice. “Try again, Al-fred, Al-fre-ed.” 

Bruce turned to glare at Clark, sure that the patent-pending Bat-glare would succeed in getting through to what was left of Clark’s mind. 

Clark gently touched his fingertip to the end of Bruce’s nose, making a boop noise. 

Bruce glared harder. Somebody was going to lose a finger for this. 

“Master Clark,” Alfred called, pulling Clark’s attention his way. “Master Bruce has been very naughty today.” 

“Alfred, you know I didn’t mean to snap at you.” Bruce began trying to get out of whatever evil masterplan Alfred was up to. He had plans for taking down Alfred when he went mad and tried to take over the world, but not for this. “I was going to apologize, I was. You know fighting the Joker can get me emotional.” 

“Hush baby,” Clark offered as he swayed where he stood, “the grownups are talking.” 

“The fighting makes you emotional?” Alfred asked with a disbelieving eyebrow. 

Bruce knew Alfred was fishing for something, some admittance about why he was upset that would get him off the hook. But, there was nothing there Bruce could admit to, so he could only shrug back. 

Now with two disappointed eyebrows, Alfred turned to Clark. “Master Bruce refused his nap and his supper, and needs a bath rather badly.” 

“Oh, he has been a naughty boy!” Clark enthused, but held a hand to Bruce’s forehead, checking for fever. 

“I’m not sick! I’m an adult, fully capable of deciding my own bedtime, you assholes. And I might add, I just came from sweating it up in a skin tight suit that doesn’t breathe so, yeah, I need a shower.” 

“mmhum,” Clark agreed in a condescending, not understanding the baby talk way. “I’ll take the stinky baby boy up for a bath, if you’ll heat up some supper for him.” 

“Very good, sir.” Alfred smirked. 

“Nope.” Bruce declared before squirming out of Clark’s arms. Or, well, that was the plan, but Clark was Superman. He was faster and stronger than Bruce, about the same way an adult was faster and stronger than a baby. Bruce kept up the struggle, though, until Clark had enough. 

A shift, and Bruce was upside down over Clark’s left shoulder, head hanging near Clark’s ass. A strong arm across Bruce’s thighs kept him in place, and Bruce allowed himself to sag. With his head only, Bruce sought out Alfred. Clark was walking them up the stairs, while Alfred took the elevator, so it wasn’t until they were in the manor that Bruce pushed up to call out to Alfred. 

“Name your price.” 

“Young master Bruce, all I want is for you to be taken care of. If you refuse to do that, I will enlist what allies I can.” 

Bruce sagged again, a moment of respite between challenges. For all that it was Clark’s strength that allowed him to manhandle Bruce like this; he’d apparently forgotten he was Superman, since he was walking through the manor. A drug that made humans see people as a baby wouldn’t do much good, as regular people wouldn’t be able to control other adults like this. The seeing Bruce as a baby thing must be a result of Superman’s physiology. What then was the drug supposed to do to normal people? Did Clark see Alfred as he was or maybe a teenage babysitter? Bruce snorted a laugh at that, picturing Alfred with acne and skinny jeans. He had photoshop, and that picture might be good for revenge after this was over. 

“I’m glad you’ve cheered up baby boy.” Clark said lightly as he closed the door behind them. “You’re normally so good for Alfred; maybe you just missed Daddy today?” 

Bruce was too busy analyzing exits from the bathroom off his bedroom to bother answering. 

Clark swung Bruce off his shoulder and up towards the ceiling, holding him up there with a huge smile on Clark’s face, before lowering him gently to the ground. Clark turned to the bathtub, getting the water the perfect temp before filling it. 

Bruce backed slowly toward the door, grabbing the handle and turning it while Clark was distracted. He turned and jumped through the open door, only to be caught in the air by an arm around his waist. 

Clark was laughing as he spun Bruce around, closing the door again before setting Bruce on the edge of the tub. He talked as he knelt down to pull off Bruce’s boots. “Oh baby boy, you were a handful all day today, weren’t you? Daddy had to leave, you know that, and Papa will be back before you know it.” 

“Papa?” Bruce asked automatically, an impulse he put down to trying to get more information about Clark’s make-believe world. Apparently Clark was living with another man, in Bruce’s house, raising Bruce as a kid. Sure, Clark was at least bisexual, probably pan, considering all humans were technically another species. But just who had he ‘settled down’ with when Bruce was de-aged in his mind? 

“That’s right, Papa’s coming home soon. Don’t you want to be clean and well rested when he gets here?” Clark tried to reason with what he saw as an over-tired child. 

Bruce was not a child, but if he was going to be treated as one he was going to earn it. And he might be a little pissed that another man was living in his house. Scowling, Bruce crossed his arms over his chest, holding down the thin t-shirt he’d worn under the batsuit. 

Clark ignored this until he finished unbuckling the pants, not even wondering why his ‘baby boy’ was wearing such a thing. 

Weren’t delusions fun? Bruce asked himself, and even his mental voice had layers of sarcasm. 

Clark tried to work the shirt up and off, but Bruce held it down firmly. Clark looked Bruce in the eye for the first time since this started. Bruce glared. 

“Papa’s stubborn streak it is.” Clark declared, before picking Bruce up. The pants and boots fell away and Bruce was set in the tub with his shirt on. 

Bruce stayed on his feet as he sorted through the men in Clark’s life, trying to find a stubborn one. The most stubborn people Clark knew were Lois and Lex, and Lois would never let herself be called Papa. After that whole thing with Kon-el, a clone of Superman and Lex forced on Clark, would Clark really get together with Lex? Did he think he was raising Kon? But he hadn’t reacted when Alfred referred to Bruce as Master Bruce, unless that was more selective hearing. 

“Oh, honestly,” Clark muttered, and then there was warmth behind Bruce. Clark sat, his knees making Bruce’s knees bend, until Bruce was sitting on Clark’s lap. Clark was still wearing his sweatpants, and there wasn’t a hint of an erection under Bruce’s ass, so there was nothing sexual in the act. Clark figured he was going to get wet before the end of the bath so he just sat in it, forcing Bruce to do the same. 

Bruce knew he needed to be in the cave, working, but he had a feeling Clark would find him easily, even if he wasn’t using his x-ray. Maybe the kryptonite ring would jog Clark’s memory? Or would it make it worse, preventing his physiology from flushing out this toxin? 

Clark reached around Bruce to turn off the water, as the tub had filled quickly, considering the addition of two full grown bodies in it. A soft knock distracted them both, but Alfred entered without waiting for permission. The tray he carried had several covered dishes and sat easily on the wide edge of the tub. 

“I have brought enough that you may eat as well, Master Clark.” 

“Thank you, Alfred. I do get hungry at my job.” Clark raised his hands to do air quotes around the word job. Apparently, that was subtle don’t-tell-the-kid code for vigilante. 

“I am aware, sir,” Alfred responded with amusement, “and I find it refreshing that you can admit that about your job.” 

That last came with a stare at Bruce, who rolled his eyes just because he knew it irritated Alfred. 

“I’ll take the tray down after he’s asleep, so you can go to bed Alfred.” Clark offered like the gentleman he was. 

“Very kind, sir, but I am attending to a complicated recipe.” That also earned Bruce a look, Alfred letting Bruce know that he was watching the computers. If Bruce escaped Clark and ran to the cave, that would be the same as saying he didn’t trust Alfred to let him know when something needed his attention. 

Bruce sighed, and forced his crossed arms to relax. This was his signal of trust in Alfred and his apology for snapping at him earlier. It helped that the food smelled excellent, making him regret leaving before he’d eaten the beef stroganoff. For all Alfred and Clark demanded Bruce take care of himself, nobody ever made them do it. “Learn to take care of yourself, old man.” Bruce spoke to the bath water. 

“Have a pleasant evening, sirs.” Alfred almost smiled as he said it, backing away. 

“You too, Alfred,” Clark answered for both of them, since he didn’t think Bruce could talk. 

Alfred left and Clark wasted no time in pulling the t-shirt from Bruce. 

Bruce wanted to respond sexually, as he normally did when Clark removed his clothes, but there was no other stimulation. Instead of hands touching his sensitive parts, Clark was messing with the food. With a mental shake, Bruce forced himself to relax back onto Clark’s chest and accept the bites of food given to him. He convinced himself that it was to prevent Clark from making airplane noises to get him to eat, but he was actually hungry. 

Clark used the same fork to feed himself a bite in between each of Bruce’s, and Bruce found he didn’t think that was gross. It had been scientifically studied, that what people considered gross was greatly reduced during sexual acts. Rimming sounded disgusting, and without proper hygiene it could be, but he had no qualms about rimming Clark when the situation demanded it. Batman got enough bodily fluids spilled on his suit during the night to not want to add to that collection, unless it was Clark coming on him. Could be just because it was Clark, who was immune to Earth diseases, but Bruce stopped that thought. Maybe he should sponsor a study to see how quickly new parents sense of disgust disappeared, allowing them eat what their kids didn’t. How much of grossness was instinct verses learned? Bruce distracted himself up to the shared slice of German chocolate cake with questions of grossness. 

When the food was gone, Clark started to wash Bruce. Slowly, Bruce realized he was boneless, held up only by Clark’s body. It was weird to not do things for himself, but nice too. For a man who could crush mountains, Clark was very gentle as he soaped Bruce up and manhandled his limp limbs. As Bruce’s brain shut down and sleep pulled at him, he thought about how nice this really was. He knew he’d have to be tortured to the point of death to admit it; it was the principle of the thing. Right now, he wasn’t sure what principle that was, but it was important. 

Clark was humming softly as he drained the water, and rinsed Bruce under the shower. Wrapped in towels that had never seemed so soft, Bruce considered falling asleep and letting Clark get on with it. He wasn’t really needed for this part, nor was he sure why he’d just been set on the sink countertop, and then laid down. No, he didn’t realize the towel being wrapped around him was a diaper until one side was pinned shut. 

Flailing around, all grace and skill forgotten, Bruce tried to get away from Clark, from the white thing on his ass. Clark frowned, but pulled Bruce into his arms, diaper and all. Clark began to rock him, and sing _Hush Little Baby_. It helped, in that it reminded Bruce of just how messed up all this was, that neither of them had a choice in this. It also let him consider the diaper. 

It was just a thin cotton towel, probably a floor towel to get the shape needed. Alfred had set it next to some talcum powder, in case Clark’s delusions thought it necessary. It wasn’t a real diaper, neither an adult diaper for incontinence nor a diaper for people into age-play. That was something Bruce’s ego could work with. Hell, Brucie Wayne had no room to kink-shame anybody, but this wasn’t his thing. 

He needed to be in control; just look at how hard it was to give in and let Alfred take care of him, never mind Clark. Clark only got away with it because he was stronger, and could wipe the floor with Bruce in a fair fight. Bruce didn’t fight fair, and part of that was because he worked so hard to control all the variables. Control was important, so important it took mental effort to bottom for Clark, without trying to top from the bottom. 

Being emotionally involved with Clark, with anyone, would mean letting them have control of some things, and that couldn’t happen. And he knew himself, knew reality. If he set aside the control required for the Work, to be Batman, he didn’t know if he’d have the strength to pick it up again. It was a heavy burden, trying to stem the tide of crime, to save lives even when he couldn’t save them all. What kind of idiot would pick up that burden repeatedly? 

No, for his own piece of mind, he had to step aside and let Clark work this drug out of his system. It would be easiest on Bruce if he just faked sleep until Clark was asleep, and then tried to contact Alfred. Call him, make sure the analysis was progressing instead of going to the cave and acting as if he didn’t trust Alfred. It was a plan, an illusion of control, so Bruce grabbed on to it. He shut his eyes as Clark sung and carried him around the rooms. 

Eventually, Clark put Bruce in the bed and pinned up the other side of the diap … the experimental loin cloth. Covered and tucked in, Clark left Bruce to return to the bathroom but left the door open. A moment to clean up in there, and then Clark was digging through Bruce’s clothes. He changed his wet sweats for some pjs, still humming. 

Bruce waited for Clark to give it up, to leave or get in bed or something. While he waited, he thought of new and creative places to stick each thing Papa was going to buy the baby in the song. Bruce was stuck on the cart and bull when he succumbed to sleep. 

sB _Sb_ Bs

Clark woke in the dawn’s early light because someone was tapping him on the shoulder. It wasn’t Bruce, as he was still asleep. Bruce’s body was also in a cage made of Clark’s body, and Clark’s left arm and leg held over Bruce to keep him from rolling off the bed. Carefully turning, so not to wake Bruce, who needed more sleep than he got, Clark smiled at Alfred. 

Alfred smiled back, and handed Clark his phone. 

Clark took it, and noted he had a new text message. At a nod from Alfred, Clark opened the message. His phone unlocked without a noise, so Alfred must have found it, unlocked it, and changed the settings before bringing it up. Clark almost asked how, but then remembered he was dealing with Batman’s butler, and the question answered itself. The text was also from Alfred, so he had something to tell Clark. 

**Master Clark, the chemical compound you were exposed to last night is mostly used to lower inhibitions and cause mild hallucinations. It is composed of several chemicals that are known to cause short-term memory loss. This could have you acting drunk while responding to sights only you could see, and then not remember in the morning.**

**Naturally, if you do begin to remember, you will inform Master Bruce of these memories if they are relevant. You know how he likes a full understanding of how chemicals effect you, if you can remember such things.**

**Alfred Pennyworth**

Besides his formal way of wording a text, it was also clear that Alfred was suggesting memory loss might be the best way of going about the morning after. When Clark remembered what last night had entailed, his full body blush let him know that Alfred was correct; amnesia for the win. Clark turned to give Alfred a nod, which Alfred replied to with a slower nod before slipping silently out of the room. 

Clark spent the next few hours practicing, until he could think about last night without blushing. It had all been so real to him, even more vivid in his memory than the fight at the warehouse. Fighting crime with Batman, and returning home to their child. Batman would be out for a while, so Clark would care for the boy until Bruce came to join them. He could remember the fight they’d had over names, until Bruce had relented and let Clark name their baby boy Bruce Jonathan Wayne-Kent. The baby had looked so much like Bruce, because apparently he was Bruce. Oh, God, he’d diapered Bruce. 

Amnesia was the only way to go here, since he sure wouldn’t get far explaining any of that. Clark’s embarrassment was easier to kill than his want, his desire for all he’d seen to come to pass. But it had to die if he was going to pull off this lie to Bruce, who had to know everything. 

It was just before noon when Clark was put to the test, as Bruce slowly woke up. Once his brain came online, the stiffness in his body showed he was awake, alert, and kind of extremely angry about last night. Clark faked sleep, resting on his back until a hand smacked him in the chest. He turned a confused smile and bleary eyes on Bruce. 

“Uh, morning, I guess, Bruce.” 

“You guess? What do you remember of last night?” 

Clark frowned, and paused while he reviewed his eidetic memory, and readied for the lie. “We were married by the Joker, and it goes blurry after that.” Clark frowned deeper and rubbed at his head. 

“You don’t remember anything after that?” 

“I wanted to talk, had so much to say, but I don’t know what I said. Then everything just kind of fades out.” 

Bruce sighed, relieved, ready to take this gift horse and never, ever look in its mouth. “It was awful, you called me poetry in motion. I brought you to the cave to study the chemical but you just kept calling me pretty. Honestly, it was very damaging to my fragile male ego.” 

“Oh, dear, how terrible of me,” Clark replied with the sarcasm he’d learned from Bruce. “To just randomly complement you like that!” 

“I’m just glad I got you out of there before the Joker heard the worst bits.” 

“Still, I wouldn’t damage you for anything, not even your ginormous ego. Is there any way I can repair your fragile male ego?” Clark asked with heat in his voice, rather surprised at how turned on snarky Bruce had him already. 

“Well, that is an interesting offer,” Bruce said, his voice thoughtful. 

He’d had a weirder night than Clark, since Clark had seen their child, and Bruce had only seen Clark treating him like a baby. A spike of ice in his stomach came as Clark wondered if Bruce would ever see him sexually again. If anybody could compartmentalize or reason his way out of that, it would be Bruce, but only if he wanted to. For once, Dear God, please let Bruce kill his emotions in my favor, Clark prayed silently. 

“I think if you were to ride me until you come twice, I might feel like a man again.” 

Clark rolled over to pounce on Bruce, forgetting that he was fully covered, dressed in pjs. Black silk and very comfortable, but they still interfered with fixing Bruce’s ego. With a slow smile, Clark floated upward and began a slow strip tease in midair. As he rolled onto his back to let the now unbuttoned shirt fall to the bed, Bruce was able to slide out of the diaper that they were both refusing to acknowledge. Still floating, Clark dropped his pants and reached for the lube. In midair, he let Bruce see everything as he slowly prepped himself, scissoring until he could take three of his own fingers. 

“Come back to Earth.” Bruce commanded, and Clark obeyed, landing ass first on Bruce’s hard cock. Slowly, gravity pulled them together, and they rested pelvis to pelvis for a moment. 

Clark leaned down to kiss Bruce, filthy and wet, teasing Bruce’s nipples with his hands. Will every ounce of control he had left, Clark moved his hips up, and began riding Bruce. By keeping control of the angle, he managed to have Bruce’s cock hit his prostate with every slide. If Clark was human, if he didn’t have the ability to mentally command himself to get hard again, he would have been embarrassed by how quickly he came. 

He rested for a blissful moment on Bruce, using his trail of cum to write loving words on Bruce, and then he got back in the saddle. Riding Bruce until he was hard wasn’t an effort, and Clark kept himself from getting hard too quickly, enjoying it as he was. When he was fully hard and unable to hide it, he sat back on his knees, leaving the long line of his body at an angle. Bruce appreciated the sight, and began fucking up into Clark’s now still ass. 

Clark waited until he felt the trembling in Bruce’s thighs, heard the panting breathing that signaled Bruce was close, and Clark came again, clenching down on Bruce’s cock. Bruce came with a muffled swearing of Clark’s name, pelvis slowly lowering back to the bed as his own cum fell out of Clark’s grasping hole. It was wonderfully filthy, and Clark rubbed his own spent cock in it before falling to the bed and wrapping himself around Bruce. 

A knock at the door a few minutes later had them both pulling the duvet over their naked bodies. Alfred had a tray of food, and a newspaper tucked under his arm. Alfred put the tray on the bedside table, but the newspaper reminded Clark of something. 

“I’m supposed to be at work!” Clark almost shouted, amazed that he’d managed to not think about that this entire morning. Sure, Bruce was more important, but it should have at least crossed his mind that he wasn’t the house-husband of a billionaire and actually had to work. 

“Actually, sir, you’ll find that your absence has been explained.” Alfred said. He placed the folded newspaper on the bed between them and made sure he was out of the room before they could read the _Gotham Gazette_ headline. 

**Batman Married to Metrop Reporter**

**When the Joker took hostages at Gotham Harbor last night, Batman’s involvement was expected. What was not expected was when the Joker married a hostage to the mysterious Batman. The hostage, identified as Clark Kent, reporter for _The Daily Planet_ said his “I do” with a knife at his throat. That same knife was probably responsible for the disembodied voice of Batman responding in kind, saving the life of the hostage. **

“It’s not binding if it’s said under duress” Clark muttered to Bruce, reading along next to him. 

**The marriage is legal and binding, for many reasons. Primarily, there is no dispensation for weddings done under threat or stress, as this would invalidate many shotgun weddings, where the groom is forced to marry a pregnant bride. The Joker is, in fact, licensed to perform weddings through the internet ministry of the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster. Harleen Quinzell, the psychiatrist who fell under the spell of the Joker to become Harlequin is still a notary republic.**

**“Committing somebody requires several legal functions, and some forms need a notary republic. When Dr. Quinzell was hired, it was with full knowledge of her ability to notarize things.” Said as source at Arkham Asylum.**

**“Dr. Quinzell has simply never been removed from the notary list, as she has not used this privilege since going over to the Joker.” The Notary Union representative said before hanging up.**

**“Apparently, after escaping custody last night,” began a tired looking Commissioner Gordon, “Harley broke into the court house and registered the marriage of Batman and Clark Kent. As far as I have been able to figure out, it will be considered valid in Gotham until both parties can come to the courthouse and file for a divorce or annulment. As Batman does not officially exist, he will have to prove his identity before this can be done.”**

**As Batman took Clark Kent out of the warehouse last night without any explanation, an annulment might be hard to acquire. Gotham civil statutes require proof that the marriage was not consummated before granting an annulment, though this law has not been expanded to be compatible with recent legislation approving gay marriage.**

There was more to the article under the fold, but Clark risked a look at his bedfellow. Bruce looked like he was about to bust out a Popeye impression or have a stroke, so once again Clark followed Alfred’s lead. 

“I’m gonna go. We’ll talk about this later.” 

Superspeed got him to the Batcave shower in record time, where he giggled as he washed off the proof that the annulment wasn’t possible. Then he was in his clothes and gone, wondering how long he was going to have to avoid Gotham, and his husband. 

sB _Sb_ Bs


End file.
